The Gun-Brand

by James B. Hendryx

  CHAPTER VIII

  A SHOT IN THE NIGHT

  As Lapierre made his way to the camp of the Indians he pondered deeply.For Lapierre was troubled. The fact that MacNair had twice come uponhim unexpectedly within the space of a month caused him grave concern.He did not know that it was entirely by chance that MacNair had foundhim, an unwelcome sojourner at Fort Rae. Accusations andrecriminations had passed between them, with the result that MacNair,rough, bluff, and ready to fight at any time, had pounded thequarter-breed to within an inch of his life, and then, to theundisguised delight of the men of the H.B.C., had dragged him out andpitched him ignominiously into the lake.

  Either could have killed the other then and there. But each knew thatto have done so, as the result of a personal quarrel, would have beenthe worst move he could possibly have made. And the forebearance withwhich MacNair fought and Lapierre suffered was each man's measure ofgreatness. MacNair went about his business, and to Lapierre cameChenoine with his story of the girl and the plot of Vermilion, andLapierre, forgetting MacNair for the moment, made a dash for the SlaveRiver.

  For years Lapierre and MacNair had been at loggerheads. Eachrecognized in the other a foe of no mean ability. Each had sworn todrive the other out of the North. And each stood at the head of apowerful organization which could be depended upon to fight to the lastgasp when the time came to "lock horns" in the final issue. Bothleaders realized that the show-down could not be long delayed--a year,perhaps--two years--it would make no difference. The clash wasinevitable. Neither sought to dodge the crisis, nor did either seek tohasten it. But each knew that events were shaping themselves, thestage was set, and the drama of the wilds was wearing to its finalscene.

  From the moment of his meeting with Chloe Elliston, Lapierre hadrealized the value of an alliance with her against MacNair. And beinga man whose creed it was to turn every possible circumstance to his ownaccount, he set about to win her co-operation. When, during the courseof their first conversation, she casually mentioned that she couldcommand millions if she wanted them, his immediate interest in MacNaircooled appreciably--not that MacNair was to be forgotten--merely thathis undoing was to be deferred for a season, while he, the PierreLapierre once more of student days, played an old game--a game longforgot in the press of sterner life, but one at which he once excelled.

  "A game of hearts," the man had smiled to himself--"a game in which therisk is nothing and the stakes---- With millions one may accomplishmuch in the wilderness, or retire into smug respectability--who knows?Or, losing, if worse comes to worst, a lady who can command millions,held prisoner, should be worth dickering for. Ah, yes, dear lady! Byall means, you shall be helped to Christianize the North! To educatethe Indians--how did she say it? 'So that they may come and receivethat which is theirs of right'--fah! These women!"

  While the scows rushed northward his plans had been laid--plans thatincluded a masterstroke against MacNair and the placing of the girlabsolutely within his power in one move. And so Pierre Lapierre hadaccompanied Chloe to the mouth of the Yellow Knife, selected the sitefor her school, and generously remained upon the ground to direct theerection of her buildings.

  Up to that point his plans had carried with but two minor frustrations:he was disappointed in not having been allowed to build a stockade, andhe had been forced prematurely to show his hand to MacNair. The firstwas the mere accident of a woman's whim, and had been offset to a greatextent in the construction of the trading-post and store-house.

  The second, however, was of graver importance and deeper significance.While the girl's faith in him had, apparently, remained unshaken by herinterview with MacNair, MacNair himself would be on his guard.Lapierre ground his teeth with rage at the Scotchman's accuratecomprehension of the situation, and he feared that the man's wordsmight raise a suspicion in Chloe's mind; a fear that was in a greatmeasure allayed by her eager acceptance of his offer of assistance inthe matter of supplies, and--had he not already sown the seeds of adeeper regard? Once she had become his wife! The black eyes glitteredas the man threaded the trail toward the camp, where his own tentshowed white amid the smoke-blackened teepees of the Indians.

  The thing, however, that caused him the greatest uneasiness was thesuspicion that there was a leak in his system. How had MacNair knownthat he would be at Fort Rae? Why had he come down the Yellow Knife?And why had the two Indian scouts failed to report the man's coming?Only one of the Indians had returned at all, and his report that theother had been killed by one of MacNair's retainers had seemedunconvincing. However, Lapierre had accepted the story, but allthrough the days of the building he had secretly watched him. The manwas one of his trusted Indians--so was the one he reported killed.

  Upon the outskirts of the camp Lapierre halted--thinking. LeFroy hadalso watched--he must see LeFroy. Picking his way among the teepees,he advanced to his own tent. Groups of Indians and half-breeds,hunched about their fires, were eating supper. They eyed himrespectfully as he passed, and in response to a signal, LeFroy aroseand followed him to the tent.

  Once inside, Lapierre fixed his eyes upon the boss canoeman.

  "Well--you have watched Apaw--what have you found out?"

  "Apaw--I'm t'ink she spik de trut'."

  "Speak the truth--_hell_! Why didn't he get down here ahead ofMacNair, then? What have I got spies for--to drag in after MacNair'sgone and tell me he's been here?"

  LeFroy shrugged. "MacNair Injuns--dey com' pret' near catch Apaw--deykeel Stamix. Apaw, she got 'way by com' roun' by de Black Fox."

  Lapierre nodded, scowling. He trusted LeFroy; and having recognized inhim one as unscrupulous and nearly as resourceful and penetrating ashimself, had placed him in charge of the canoemen, the men who, in thewords of the leader, "kept cases on the North," and to whose lot fellthe final distribution of the whiskey to the Indians. But so, also,had he trusted the boasting, flaunting Vermilion.

  "All right; but keep your eye on him," he said, smiling sardonically,"and you may learn a lesson. Now you listen to me. You are to stayhere. Miss Elliston wants you for her chief trader. Make out yourlist of supplies--fill that storehouse up with stuff. She wants you toundersell the H.B.C.--and you do it. Get the trade in here--see? Keepyour prices down to just below Company prices, and then skin 'em on thefur--and--well, I don't need to tell you how. Give 'em plenty of debtand we'll fix the books. Pick put a half-dozen of your best men andkeep 'em here. Tell 'em to obey Miss Elliston's orders; and whateveryou do, keep cases on MacNair. But don't start anything. Pass theword out and fill up her school. Give her plenty to do, and keep 'emorderly. I'll handle the canoemen and pick up the fur, and then I'vegot to drop down the river and run in the supplies. I'll run in somerifles, and some of the _stuff_, too."

  LeFroy looked at his chief in surprise.

  "Vermilion--she got ten keg on de scow--" he began.

  Lapierre laughed.

  "Vermilion, eh? Do you know where Vermilion is?"

  LeFroy shook his head.

  "He's in hell--that's where _he_ is--I dismissed him from my service.He didn't run straight. Some others went along with him--and there aremore to follow. Vermilion thought he could double-cross me and getaway with it." And again he laughed.

  LeFroy shuddered and made no comment. Lapierre continued:

  "Make out your list of supplies, and if I don't show up in the meantime, meet me at the mouth of the Slave three weeks from today. I'vegot to count days if I get back before the freeze-up. And rememberthis--you are working for Miss Elliston; we've got a big thing if wework it right; we've got MacNair where we want him at last. She thinkshe's running in whiskey and raising hell with the Indians north ofhere. Keep her thinking so; and later, when it comes to ashow-down--well, she is not only rich, but she's in good atOttawa--see?"

  LeFroy nodded. He was a man of few words, was LeFroy; dour andtaciturn, but a man of brains and one who stood in wholesome fear ofhis master.

  "And now," continued Lapier
re, "break camp and load the canoes. I mustpull out tonight. Pick out your men and move 'em at once into thebarracks. You understand everything now?"

  "_Oui_," answered LeFroy, and stepping from the tent, passed swiftlyfrom fire to fire, issuing commands in low guttural. Lapierre rolled acigarette, and taking a guitar from its case, seated himself upon hisblankets and played with the hand of a master as he sang a love-song ofold France. All about him sounded the clatter of lodge-poles, the thudof packs, and the splashing of water as the big canoes were pushed intothe river and loaded.

  Presently LeFroy's head thrust in at the entrance. He spoke no word;Lapierre sang on, and the head was withdrawn. When the song wasfinished the sounds from the outside had ceased. Lapierre carefullyreplaced his guitar in its case, drew a heavy revolver from itsholster, threw it open, and twirled the cylinder with his thumb,examining carefully its chambers. His brows drew together and his lipstwisted into a diabolical smile.

  Lapierre was a man who took no chances. What was one Indian, more orless, beside the absolute integrity of his organization? He steppedoutside, and instantly the guy-ropes of the tent were loosened; thecanvas slouched to the ground and was folded into a neat pack. Theblankets were made into a compact roll, with the precious guitar in thecentre and deposited in the head canoe. Lapierre glanced swiftly abouthim; nothing but the dying fires and the abandoned lodge-polesindicated the existence of the camp. On the shore the canoemen,leaning on their paddles, awaited the word of command.

  He stepped to the water's edge, where, Apaw the Indian, stood with theothers. For just a moment the baleful eyes of Lapierre fixed thesilent figure; then his words cut sharply upon the silence.

  "Apaw--_Chahco yahkwa_!" The Indian advanced, evidently proud ofhaving been singled out by the chief, and stood before him, paddle inhand. Lapierre spoke no word; seconds passed, the silence grewintense. The hand that gripped the paddle shook suddenly; and then,looking straight into the man's eyes, Lapierre drew his revolver andfired. There was a quick spurt of red flame--the sound of the shotrang sharp, and rang again as the opposite bank of the river hurledback the sound. The Indian pitched heavily forward and fell across hispaddle, snapping it in two.

  Lapierre glanced over the impassive faces of the canoemen.

  "This man was a traitor," he said in their own language. "I havedismissed him from my service. Weight him and shove off!"

  The quarter-breed stepped into his canoe. The canoemen bound heavystones to the legs of the dead Indian, laid the body upon the campequipage amidship, and silently took their places.

  During the evening meal, Chloe was unusually silent, answering MissPenny's observations and queries in short, detached monosyllables.Later she stole out alone to a high, rocky headland that commanded asweeping view of the river, and sat with her back against the broadtrunk of a twisted banskian.

  The long Northern twilight hung about her like a pall--seemedenveloping, smothering her. No faintest breath of air stirred the pinyneedles above her, nor ruffled the surface of the river, whose blackwaters, far below, flowed broad and deep and silent--smoothly--like ariver of oil. Ominously hushed, secretive, it slipped out of themotionless dark. Silently portentous, it faded again into the dark,the mysterious half-dark, where the gradually deepening twilightblended the distance into the enshrouding pall of gloom. Involuntarilythe girl shuddered and started nervously at the splash of an otter. Abillion mosquitoes droned their unceasing monotone. The low sound waseverywhere--among the branches of the gnarled banskian, above thesurface of the river, and on and on and on, to whine thinly between thelittle stars.

  It was not at all the woman who would conquer a wilderness, thathuddled in a dejected little heap at the foot of the banskian; but avery miserable and depressed girl, who swallowed hard to keep down thegrowing lump in her throat, and bit her lip, and stared with wide eyestoward the southward. Hot tears--tears of bitter, heart-sickeningloneliness--filled her eyes and trickled unheeded down her cheeksbeneath the tightly drawn mosquito-net.

  Darkness deepened, imperceptibly, surely, fore-shortening the horizon,and by just so much increasing the distance that separated her from herpeople.

  "Poor fool moose-calf," she murmured, "you weren't satisfied to followthe beaten trails. You had to find a land of your own--a land that----"

  The whispered words trailed into silence, and to her mind's eyeappeared the face of the man who had spoken those words--the face ofBrute MacNair. She saw him as he stood that day and faced her amongthe freshly chopped stumps of the clearing.

  "He is rough and bearlike--boorish," she thought, as she rememberedthat the man had not removed his hat in her presence. "He called menames. He is uncouth, cynical, egotistical. He thinks he can scare meinto leaving his Indians alone." Her lips trembled and tightened. "Iam a woman, and I'll show him what a woman can do. He has lived amongthe Indians until he thinks he owns them. He is hard, and domineering,and uncompromising, and skeptical. And yet--" What gave her pause wasso intangible, so chaotic, in her own mind as to form itself into nodefinite idea.

  "He is brutish and brutal and bad!" she muttered aloud at the memory ofLapierre's battered face, and immediately fell to comparing the two men.

  Each seemed exactly what the other was not. Lapierre was handsome,debonair, easy of speech, and graceful of movement; deferential,earnest, at times even pensive, and the possessor of ideals; generousand accommodating to a fault, if a trifle cynical; maligned, hated,discredited by the men who ruled the North, yet brave and infinitelycapable--she remembered the swift fate of Vermilion.

  His was nothing of the rugged candour of MacNair--the bluffstraightforwardness that overrides opposition; ignores criticism.MacNair fitted the North--the big, brutal, insatiate North--the Northof storms, of cold and fighting things; of foaming, roaring white-waterand seething, blinding blizzards.

  Chloe's glance strayed out over the river, where the farther bankshowed only the serried sky-line of a wall of jet.

  Lapierre was also of the North--the North as it is tonight; soft air,balmy with the incense of growing things; illusive dark, halfconcealing, half revealing, blurring distant outlines. A placid North,whose black waters flowed silent, smooth, deep. A benign and harmlessNorth, upon its surface; and yet, withal, portentous of things unknown.

  The girl shuddered and arose to her feet, and, as she did so, from upthe river--from the direction of the Indian camp--came the sharp, quicksound of a shot. Then silence--a silence that seemed unending to thegirl who waited breathlessly, one hand grasping the rough bark of thegnarled tree, and the other shading her eyes as thought to aid them intheir effort to pierce the gloom.

  A long time she stood thus, peering into the dark, and then, anindistinct form clove the black water of the river, and a long bodyslipped noiselessly toward her, followed by another, and another.

  "The canoes!" she cried, as she watched the sparkling starlight playupon the long Y-shaped ripples that rolled back from their bows.

  Once more the sense of loneliness almost overcame her. Pierre Lapierrewas going out of the North.

  She could see the figures of the paddlers, now--blurred, andindistinct, and unrecognizable--distinguishable more by the spaces thatshowed between them, than by their own outlines.

  They were almost beneath her. Should she call out? One last _bonvoyage_? The sound of a voice floated upward; a hard, rasping voice,unfamiliar, yet strangely familiar. In the leading canoe the Indiansceased paddling. The canoe lost momentum and drifted broadside to thecurrent. The men were lifting something; something long and dark.There was a muffled splash, and the dark object disappeared. Thecanoemen picked up their paddles, and the canoe swung into its courseand disappeared around a point. The other canoes followed; and theriver rolled on as before--black--oily--sinister.

  A broad cloud, pall-like, threatening, which had mounted unnoticed bythe girl, blotted out the light of the stars, as if to hide from alieneyes some unlovely secret of the wilds.

&nb
sp; The darkness was real, now; and Chloe, in a sudden panic of terror,dashed wildly for the clearing--stumbling--crashing through the bush asshe ran; her way lighted at intervals by flashes of distant lightning.She paused upon the verge of the bank at the point where it entered theclearing; at the point where the wilderness crowded menacingly herlittle outpost of civilization. Panting, she stood and stared out overthe smooth flowing, immutable river.

  A lightning flash, nearer and more vivid than any preceding, lightedfor an instant the whole landscape. Then, the mighty crash of thunder,and the long, hoarse moan of wind, and in the midst of it, that othersound--the horrible sound that once before had sent her dashingbreathless from the night--the demoniacal, mocking laugh of the greatloon.

  With a low, choking sob, the girl fled toward the little square oflight that glowed from the window of her cabin.